Текст книги "The Bone Tree"
Автор книги: Greg Iles
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Текущая страница: 34 (всего у книги 58 страниц)
CHAPTER 53
I PULL INTO the motor-pool bay of the sheriff’s department, which is located beneath the western end of the Concordia Parish courthouse. As I show my ID to a mustached deputy at the basement entrance, I notice a large number of inmates being held in fenced pens beyond the parked cruisers. The pens have a makeshift look, and most of the men inside are wearing street clothes.
“Who are those guys?” I ask. “Trustees about to go work on the highway?”
“Naw,” says the deputy. “Most of ’em are the meth cookers and mules we hit yesterday, the ones who ain’t made bail. Some we just busted this morning. They’re waiting for their initial appearance upstairs. This circus could take all damn day.”
“Why are they out here in those pens?”
“The fed upstairs wanted the jail empty ’cept for the boys they’re gonna question up there.”
The fed upstairs? “Do you mean Agent John Kaiser?”
“Kaiser . . . yeah, that’s him.”
“Is he with Sheriff Dennis?”
“No, the sheriff ain’t made it in yet.”
I check my watch, trying to mask my worry. If Dennis’s plan was to plant meth on the Eagles before this interrogation, then there could be a lot of bad reasons he’s not here yet. “Have the men he’s going to question shown up?”
“Not that I know of.”
Shit. “Sheriff Dennis told me he was going to be here fifteen minutes ago, if not earlier.”
“He usually is. And we need him this morning.”
The deputy hands me back my ID, and I walk up the staircase beyond the door. The staircase terminates in an open-plan office. About half the desks are empty, but at the one nearest the front sits a young deputy with the burly build of a baseball player. Unlike the potbellied deputy down in the motor pool, this guy looks like the twenty-first-century version of the southern lawman. He has strapping forearms and wears a mustache and goatee trimmed nearly to the skin, with a baseball-style sheriff’s department SWAT cap pulled low over his blue eyes. Far behind him I see a steel security door that leads to the cellblock, and to the right of that, the mahogany door that Henry and I walked through to visit Sheriff Dennis on Tuesday morning.
“Morning, Mayor,” says the young deputy, half rising to his feet and offering his hand. “Spanky Ford. I used to watch you play ball with Drew Elliott when I was a kid. St. Stephen’s had a hell of a team in those days.”
I walk up and shake his hand, which is thickly padded with muscle.
“That was a long time ago, Deputy.”
“Call me Spanky.”
“Why hasn’t the sheriff gotten in yet?”
Ford’s smile disappears. “Not sure. He called about an hour ago and told me he might be late. Told me to put Snake Knox and his geriatric buddies in the jail dining room till he got here.”
My scalp tightens. “Are they here now?”
“Yes, sir. I put ’em right where the sheriff said.”
This actually brings me some relief, though I’m not sure it’s justified. “Did they bring a lawyer?”
“No, sir. None so far.”
“No sign of Claude Devereux?”
Spanky Ford laughs. “Man, I ain’t seen old Claude in here for two, three years at least. He stays drunk out at the lake or drives up to the casinos for high-stakes poker.”
“Where’s Agent Kaiser?”
The smile vanishes again, and Ford’s eyes go hard. “In the sheriff’s private office. He’s acting like he owns the damn place.”
I nod in sympathy. “Feds are the same all over. I’ll go make sure he’s not rifling through Walker’s files.”
“Good idea.”
A lot of eyes follow me as I cross the office to the mahogany door, but I don’t return anyone’s gaze.
When I open the door, John Kaiser looks up as if I’m exactly the person he expected to see. “Morning, Mayor,” he says. “Your fiancée had quite a few interesting stories in her paper this morning.”
Kaiser doesn’t look like he got much sleep after our intensive session with Dwight Stone last night. “I’ll tell her you enjoyed them.”
“I wouldn’t say that. What I’d say is that she seems to have a lot of information that I don’t. I think she’s been holding back on me.”
Seeing Kaiser behind Sheriff Dennis’s desk is like seeing a trim, combat-blooded colonel take over the desk of a heavyset captain at a stateside army post. When I first saw Walker in that chair, he looked like he’d be happy not to have to get out of it often. Kaiser looks like he could organize and implement a Rhine crossing at a moment’s notice.
“Sheriff Dennis is AWOL,” he says. “Any idea where he might be?”
“None. By the way, thanks for e-mailing me that assessment of the Knox family.”
Kaiser ignores this. “I also find it odd that with six Double Eagles waiting patiently in the jail dining room to be questioned, we haven’t seen hide nor hair of an attorney. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”
“A little.”
“It could only mean one of two things. One, Snake and his crew have nothing to hide—which we know is absurd. Or they don’t really expect to be questioned today. And so far as I know, the only person who could guarantee that outcome is Sheriff Walker Dennis, who appears to be missing.”
“If you think Dennis is going to lift a finger to help Forrest Knox, you’re crazy. He blames Knox for killing a family member. Not to mention two deputies yesterday morning.”
“Then where is he?”
I glance at my watch. “I guess time will tell.”
“You know exactly where he is, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t.” I sit in one of the chairs opposite Walker’s desk. “I thought you were going to skip this little party, John.”
“The more I thought about it, the more certain I became that I couldn’t afford to.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because if the Double Eagles are going to be questioned, I should be the person doing it. You have no legal authority here, and between Walker Dennis and myself, I’m the more experienced interrogator by far.”
“Didn’t I tell you that Dennis deputized me? Special Deputy Penn Cage. I even get a tin star.”
Kaiser rolls his eyes. “Well, as soon as Marshal Dennis gets finished at the Long Branch, or wherever he is, we need to sort out a batting order for these interrogations—if they absolutely must happen.”
“John, you won’t talk Walker out of questioning these guys.”
Kaiser reflects on this for a few seconds, then veers in a new direction. “Dwight landed in Colorado about midnight last night.”
“When does he go under the knife? Or has he already?”
“He should have, but his blood pressure was too high. If they can get it down, they’re going to cut on him this afternoon.”
I shake my head, seeing no point in belaboring Stone’s plight.
“Yesterday’s trip probably pushed that pressure up,” Kaiser says. “But he has no regrets. He told me to tell you it meant a lot for you to listen to him last night.”
“I wish I could have told him more.”
Kaiser shrugs. “We’ll learn the truth eventually, if you guys don’t blow it today. But I doubt Dwight will live to hear it.”
The bang of a door down the hall makes us both turn toward the office door. Four seconds later it flies open, and Spanky Ford comes in with wide eyes. For a moment I’m afraid he’s about to tell us that Sheriff Dennis has been killed.
“You guys gotta clear the office! Sheriff’s back.”
“And?” Kaiser asks. “You look like the president just got shot.”
Before Ford can answer, I hear the swell of excited male voices. As Kaiser and I look at each other, heavy boots pound up the hall.
Walker Dennis pushes in behind Deputy Ford, his red face grinning, his big hands holding a Ziploc bag taped into a tight brick. “You like my office, Kaiser?” he asks with almost electric good humor.
“I needed some privacy,” Kaiser says warily, his eyes on the bag.
Dennis laughs like a man who no longer has to care what other men think. At least four deputies crowd the hall beyond the door.
“What’s that in your hand?” Kaiser asks.
“You noticed that, huh? This, my federal friend, is four hundred and eighty grams of crystal methamphetamine, enough to put a man in Angola Prison until his curly hairs turn gray, if they ain’t already.”
“Where did you find it?”
Dennis’s grin is so wide it looks painful. “This particular bag came from underneath Snake Knox’s house. I found more just like it under the houses of Sonny Thornfield, Billy Knox, and two other Double Eagles.”
My heart thumps at this last revelation. I told Walker not to try to plant anything at Billy Knox’s house, since it’s probably monitored by armed security, or at least cameras. That thought of digital cameras recording Sheriff Dennis’s felonious mission sends my heart into overdrive. But for now, I have to roll with the punches.
“This is a joke, right?” Kaiser says, looking back and forth between us.
I shrug in feigned ignorance.
The sheriff’s grin has disappeared. He looks back into the corridor and motions for his men to get back to work. Then, with deadly calm, he says, “What do you mean, a joke?”
Kaiser doesn’t shrink from his stare. “Yesterday you guys had virtually nothing on the Double Eagles. Today you find matching evidence bombs on the three perps you’d most love to nail? I’d say that’s more than convenient.”
Dennis takes an ominous step forward, and I step between him and the desk. Kaiser is right, of course: Dennis is guilty of planting evidence; but no human being is more self-righteous than one who’s been caught committing a crime.
“Sometimes a pitch just breaks the right way,” Walker says, trying to regain his equanimity.
“At exactly the right time?” Kaiser asks, a mocking tone in his voice.
Dennis draws himself up a couple of inches. “This ain’t none of your business, Mr. Kaiser. We local yokels have got this one under control. Why don’t you get back to draining ponds, or whatever your main business is?”
Kaiser looks to me for help, but I’m not inclined to give him any. This meth bust gives us irresistible leverage against the Knoxes, who would otherwise be uncrackable as a unit.
After taking several seconds to collect himself, Kaiser says, “Sheriff, I’m sorry if I was out of line. But these cases involve some of the most important unsolved crimes in this country. And if any . . . overzealousness on the part of law enforcement endangers the convictions we might otherwise get, that would be a tragedy for a lot of people.”
The stubbornness in Dennis’s face looks almost bovine. Kaiser isn’t going to change this man’s mind.
“What exactly are you suggesting I do?” Dennis asks at length.
“Don’t arrest the Eagles for those drugs. Not yet, anyway. Let me talk to them. They came in voluntarily. They’re feeling cocky. So far, they don’t even have an attorney present. We have a lot of information that they don’t know we possess, and we might learn a lot that could help our cause. But if you arrest them for that meth, they’re going to lawyer up. And it’ll be a very long time before we learn anything that could help anybody.” Kaiser looks at me again. “I include Dr. Cage in that.”
It was a good try, but he can’t sell me. Not with the Knoxes holding almost all the cards. Dennis is watching me for some kind of signal. When Kaiser looks back at him, I give my head an almost imperceptible shake.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Kaiser,” Dennis says. “But I didn’t lose good men just to shoot at the hump. I’m arresting those bastards right here and now.”
Kaiser raises his hands to protest, but Dennis is already yelling down the hall for some men. When they come running, he tells them to draw their weapons.
Kaiser and I follow this hyped-up posse down the narrow paneled hall to a small dining room where the Double Eagles are waiting. By the time I stand on tiptoe and get a look into the room, I see pure shock on the faces of the six old men gathered inside. This is clearly the last thing they expected to happen.
“Sonny Thornfield?” Dennis says loudly. “Snake Knox? You are under arrest for possession of and trafficking in crystal methamphetamine. You other boys are under arrest on suspicion of conspiracy to traffic in methamphetamine. And I’ll tell you this right now: the first son of a bitch to come clean with me gets to walk, but the rest are gonna die on Angola Farm.”
Snake Knox looks defiant, but several other pairs of eyes widen in fear.
“Get off your asses and hold out your hands!” Dennis shouts. “Now, by God. I ain’t got all day!”
“I want a telephone,” Snake says calmly.
“I want a blow job from Angie Dickinson,” Walker replies. “Don’t mean I’m gettin’ it.”
“You’ve got to give him a phone call,” Kaiser says from behind us.
Dennis barks out an abrupt laugh. “Thank God you boys got the FBI lookin’ after you, Snake. Next best thing to the ACLU. I’ll bet you never figured the Bureau would be pickin’ up your slack, did you?”
“Fuck you, Dennis,” Snake growls. “You’re a dead man. You and yours, boy.”
Sheriff Dennis crosses the room in two bounds and seizes Snake Knox by the throat with one hand. Snake tries a judo chop on the sheriff’s massive forearm, but his blow barely leaves a pink mark on the muscle.
“You can threaten me all day long, scum,” Dennis says softly, backing Snake against the wall. “But if you threaten my family again, you’ll be eatin’ through a straw the rest of your life, if you live.”
Snake’s eyes bore into the sheriff’s with no fear in them at all. For a moment they almost seem to have the vertical irises of his reptilian namesake. In a raspy whisper, he says, “Both your boys, dipshit. And your old lady, too. Though that’d be a mercy fuck, from what I’ve seen.”
Walker Dennis closes his hand like a man crushing a beer can.
Snake’s eyes bulge, and his face goes red, then purple.
“Sheriff!” yells Kaiser. “Release that man!”
Two deputies bolt forward and try to pull their boss’s crushing hand from Snake’s throat, but they can’t do it. The old crop duster’s eyes have gone glassy. One deputy holds his nightstick over his boss’s head as a last resort, but Dennis finally comes to his senses and releases Knox.
“Throw that fucker in the drunk tank,” Dennis says, stumping toward us with blood in his eye. “Put Thornfield in there with him. Process the rest and put ’em in the main cellblock. We’ll separate ’em later.”
“What about that phone call?” Kaiser asks.
“Fuck him,” Dennis mutters, walking past the FBI agent without even a glance. “And fuck you, too. Stay out of my way.”
AFTER TWENTY MINUTES OF flying over the Lusahatcha Swamp, Caitlin realized that hunting for the Bone Tree in a boat would have taken weeks without a guide like Toby Rambin. From five hundred feet in the air, the swamp appeared vastly larger than it had on Google Earth, which Caitlin had used to scan the terrain this morning. The cypress forest seemed endless, and the thick undergrowth was caught in the transition from fall to winter, an uncertain process in the South. Though it was late December, a lot of green still dotted the landscape below, and a greenish-brown scum floated at the edge of the black water between the big trees. Caitlin now understood why Henry and the FBI had not found the Bone Tree during their relatively brief searches. With half a million trees between the east and west borders of the swamp, the odds of finding a single one by pure luck were practically zero.
“The X on your map,” Danny McDavitt said over the headset, “appears to lie in the borderland between the federal wildlife preserve and the private hunting club in this area. Some of it’s disputed borderland.”
“What do you mean, disputed?” Jordan asked.
“I’ve always heard that fence down there is in the wrong place,” Danny replied. “Some say the hunting club fenced in more land than they own. But they claim they actually own more than they’ve fenced. I never heard of any litigation over it, though. Too many senators hunt at that place.”
Caitlin figured this was her chance. “Have either of you hunted at the Valhalla camp?”
“I went once,” Carl said. “Sheriff Ellis took me. He’s tight with the people who own it.”
“The Knoxes?” Caitlin asked as casually as she could.
“That’s right,” said Danny. “Some of them are old Klansmen, but one is a big dog in the state police. I think that Brody Royal was a member, the one who died the other night.”
Caitlin wondered if Danny knew that she’d been in the room when Henry Sexton immolated the old multimillionaire. Of course he did. That would have been the talk of the county this morning, and certainly the sheriff’s department.
“I didn’t care for the place,” Carl said.
“Big surprise,” Danny cracked. “You’re definitely the wrong color.”
“Yeah. The sheriff only took me over there to show those assholes he’s got the best rifle shot in the state on his payroll.”
Caitlin looked over at Jordan, who was gazing out the window as though this were a commuter shuttle from New York to Boston.
“What the hell is with those huge fences?” Jordan asked. “We saw them on the way in. The whole place felt like a goddamn concentration camp.”
“That’s what it is,” Carl said glumly. “But for animals.”
Danny tilted the chopper so that they could see more landscape below. Caitlin scanned the swamp for cypresses noticeably larger than the others.
“What’s it cost to belong to one of those hunting clubs?” she asked.
“Ten grand a year for some, others ten times that much. Depends on what you’re after.”
“Unless you’re a senator or a titan of industry,” said Danny. “Then you can order what you want off a menu, just like going to a restaurant. They take you out to an electric feeder where the game of your choice eats every day, and you execute the animal while he’s having dinner.”
“Real sporting, huh?” Carl said. “It’s like hunting in a zoo.”
“Pathetic,” Jordan said. “You see how those deer run when we roar over them? That’s exactly how people run from choppers in some countries I’ve been to. Only slower.”
“Yeah,” Carl said, his voice suddenly somber. “I’ve seen that myself.”
“Is that the way Valhalla is run?” Caitlin asked. “Like a hunting zoo?”
“For the customers, yeah. But the owners do some crazy stuff, like the spear hunting.”
“There are politicians who have wet dreams about being asked down to those camps for a weekend,” said Danny. “They’ve got chefs and waiters and whores on call for those boys. It’s redneck heaven down here.”
“And Sheriff Ellis is tight with the owners?” Caitlin asked.
Carl nodded. “The sheriff’s okay. He’s a redneck, but he’s basically a decent man.”
“Are we getting close to the X?” Caitlin asked.
“Not long now,” Danny said. “This map wasn’t exactly drafted by the U.S. Geological Survey.”
“I’m sorry about that.”
The pilot laughed, then looked over his shoulder at Caitlin. His eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses. “You ladies going to let us in on what’s supposed to be waiting under that X?”
Caitlin felt a chill of suspicion.
“It’s not Jean Lafitte’s pirate treasure, is it?”
“How did you know?” Jordan said with a laugh. “If it’s there, we’ll cut you in for five percent.”
Carl laughed. “I think this chopper rates a four-way split, don’t you?”
Caitlin forced herself to laugh, but she wondered how the pilot would react if they actually discovered the Bone Tree this morning. As a young black man, Carl obviously sympathized with her cause, but Sheriff Ellis wasn’t going to be happy to have his county become the new epicenter of civil rights cases that would draw the attention of the whole world.
Out of nowhere, an image of Tom Cage rose in her mind. Without intending it, Caitlin prayed as she never had before. She prayed for Tom’s deliverance, of course, but more than that, she prayed that Penn would never discover that she’d known where Tom was and kept it from him.
She started as Jordan’s hand fell on her knee.
“I’m okay,” she said, looking up at her new friend. “Just a little airsick.”
Jordan smiled, but she wasn’t buying it.
CHAPTER 54
WALT STOOD WITH his back to the wall of the rearmost upstairs bedroom of the Bouchard lake house and listened to the muted hum of voices from the deck. Only a glass door covered by a curtain separated him from Knox and Ozan now. He had accomplished a minor miracle in getting this far. After the Redbone arrived, Walt had put on some rough clothes he’d found in the neighbor’s house, then crossed the open ground wearing a gardener’s cap and gloves and carrying a short shovel. Once he’d gained the house undetected, he’d quickly searched the garage. After determining that Tom wasn’t inside Ozan’s pickup truck, Walt had taken out his pistol and begun searching the house, room by room.
With every room he cleared, the embers of hope in his heart burned lower. After ten minutes, he found himself standing here, in the final room, which was as empty of human beings as the others. This huge house contained only Walt Garrity, while Forrest and Ozan talked in low tones on the deck. Walt clenched his pistol against his chest and tried to make out what the men were saying.
He couldn’t do it.
Unless he put his ear to the glass window, there was no point in even trying. His only hope now was to confront the bastards directly. At two to one, the odds were against him, but he’d faced worse as a Texas Ranger. Much worse, in fact, and he’d survived.
Truth be told, the safest plan would be to shoot Ozan outright and then force Knox to give up Tom’s location. But if he did that, he’d have little choice but to finish off Knox as well. Both men certainly deserved to die, but Walt found the idea of blowing Ozan away without any warning more difficult than he would have expected. Perhaps he could get the drop on them so cleanly that they wouldn’t go for their weapons. . . .
“No,” he whispered. “Right now, I’m Tom’s only chance.”
Walt edged over to the window, where a thin crack of light offered a view of the deck. He could just make out Ozan standing in profile, while Forrest remained out of sight. Throwing open the door before firing was out of the question, a sucker’s play. Better to slide the curtain aside and fire through the glass—multiple times, if necessary.
Walt tried to calm himself the way he did before shooting at a distant deer. But no matter what he did, his heartbeat grew louder, and his ears began to pound.
One shot, he thought, focusing on Ozan’s brick-colored face. For all I know, Tom is dead already, and that bastard killed him. . . .
FORREST HAD FELT SOME relief after Ozan joined him. Having a man who was willing to follow any order without question gave you a certain confidence. But the plain fact was, they were in a tough spot. Something had clearly gone wrong with his plan to bust Sheriff Dennis. He didn’t know what it was, but he wanted Snake and his crew out of the sheriff’s office. Somehow, a dumb ex–baseball player had turned the tables on him. Forrest wasn’t really worried about Walker Dennis; he was worried about the sheriff giving Penn Cage and John Kaiser access to the Double Eagles. Forrest had reviewed the records of both men, and both had proved themselves expert at wringing the truth out of hardened criminals. If he couldn’t find a way to get Snake and his crew out of that jail, Cage and Kaiser would get a real shot at turning somebody. The fallout from Glenn Morehouse’s deathbed confession had yet to be controlled, and if one more Eagle decided to unload the sins of his youth, Forrest could say good-bye to all his ambitions for the future.
He cussed his own stupidity when it hit him that he’d been wasting time waiting for Claude Devereux to come through. The simplest solution was just to call Snake and tell him to walk the Eagles right out of the building. After all, they hadn’t been arrested. They were free to leave anytime they chose. They could flip Sheriff Dennis the bird as they walked out! Instead, they were sitting there—on Forrest’s orders!—patiently awaiting an interrogation they were confident would never happen, because they expected Dennis to be busted by his own men at any moment.
Forrest picked up his burn phone and speed-dialed Snake’s cell phone. The phone rang several times, then kicked him to voice mail. Ozan asked what he was doing, and Forrest explained. Then, while Forrest tried Sonny Thornfield’s phone, Ozan began dialing the other Eagles at the station.
None answered.
Something began to thrum in Forrest’s chest, like a wire stretched taut between his heart and his voice box.
“What do you think happened?” Ozan asked.
“Nothing good.”
“Where the fuck is Claude Devereux?” muttered the Redbone. “He should’ve been down there by now. He should’ve called you back, at least.”
Forrest licked his lips and thought about Devereux. Given Brody Royal’s death, and the manner of it, the crafty old Cajun might just have bolted. . . .
“Maybe Claude is down there,” Ozan suggested.
“I don’t think so. I want you to alert every trooper in the southern half of the state. Claude’s daughter lives in Lafayette. Tell them to look out for Claude’s car. If they see it, pull him over and tell him to get his ass back to his office and wait for instruction.”
“Do you think he—”
Forrest’s StarTac was ringing.
“That’s probably him now,” Ozan said, grinning.
Forrest shook his head and answered the phone. The caller was his primary mole at the sheriff’s office.
“Talk,” Forrest said.
“Sheriff Dennis just arrested everybody, Colonel.”
Forrest balled his left hand into a fist. “Define ‘everybody.’”
“Snake, Sonny, and the other four old guys.”
“On what charge?”
“Meth trafficking. Dennis and two deputies found a shitload of crystal under Sonny’s and Snake’s houses. He’s strutting around here like goddamn rooster.”
Forrest’s pulse began to pound. “What about Billy’s houses?”
“I haven’t heard anything about Billy. But Mayor Cage and that FBI guy are here, too. This is some serious shit, Colonel. I gotta go, but I knew you’d want to know.”
“Hold on! As soon as you can get word to Snake, make sure he knows I had nothing to do with this. I don’t want him thinking it was some kind of setup.”
“Ten-four.”
“And tell him I’ll get them out. Today. You hear me? Tell them I’ve got a lawyer on the way.”
“Yes, sir. Will do.”
The connection went dead.
“What the hell happened?” Ozan asked.
Forrest told him.
The Redbone shook his head, his eyes bright with outrage. “Why would Sonny and Snake have meth at home? You think they been skimming or something? Putting back a nest egg?”
“Hell, no! Don’t you see? Sheriff Dennis found the meth we planted under his house and planted it on our guys. Goddamn it!”
“How the hell could he have found that? A K-9 unit?”
Forrest nodded. “Had to be. But he’d never think to look for it. Not Walker Dennis. Kaiser, maybe. But an FBI agent would never risk planting dope like that. They leave that kind of shit to the DEA.”
“Then who?”
“Penn Cage. The old prosecutor. I’ll bet he saw every trick in the book out in Houston. He’s probably sent cops to the pen for planting dope to get a conviction, but now that his old man’s life is on the line . . . Yeah, it was Cage.”
Ozan’s mouth twisted into a jagged line. “Maybe it’s time we did something about that fuck.”
Forrest nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe. I was hoping to do a deal with that boy.”
“I don’t see that happening now.”
“This definitely puts a kink into things. But first things first. We’ve got to get Snake out of jail ASAP. I guarantee you he’s going to think I set him up. Because I’m the one who made him march in there for this. He didn’t want to do it. And it looks like he was right. Shit.”
“Snake can’t screw you over without screwing himself, can he?”
Forrest rubbed his chin and stared out over the lake. “I don’t know. Snake’s a lot smarter than people think. That crazy act is just that—an act.”
“What’s our play, then?”
“First, find Devereux. Claude’s the only lawyer who knows the whole backstory, and he’s got as much to lose as we do. Second, have somebody search my house in Baton Rouge. For all we know, they planted a pound of meth on me, too.”
“Christ. Good thinking, boss.”
“And last . . . find somebody local who knows somebody at the hotel where the FBI is staying. I want wireless bugs planted in their rooms by noon, and somebody stationed one floor above them monitoring the bugs. I’m getting the feeling there’s something personal about Kaiser’s interest in me. And it’s starting to piss me off.”
“You got it, Colonel. Is that it?”
Before Forrest could answer, he heard a car door slam on the other side of the house. A couple of loose guys from the Black Team were scheduled to arrive, so he relaxed. Then something shifted inside the house. The sound hadn’t been loud, but Forrest had been here long enough to know it wasn’t part of the normal background noise of the place. He looked over at Ozan, who nodded once.
“Go,” Forrest whispered.
WALT HAD BEEN AIMING through the glass door when he heard something from the other side of the house. It sounded like a car door.
The voices on the deck went silent.
Walt listened, frozen in space. He heard the sound again. It was a car door. Then footsteps on the deck moved toward the glass.
As lightly as he could, Walt retreated through the bedroom door, then rushed around a landing and down a back staircase he’d found while passing through the kitchen. He could hear voices in the garage. At least two. Instead of standing still, he slipped into a dark pantry and waited as the voices neared, then passed and moved upward.
Instinct told him to get out while he could, but he forced himself to remain in the pantry. Either Knox or Ozan was hunting him. Walt kept his pistol aimed at the door. After what felt like five minutes, he opened the pantry door, walked straight into the garage, and picked up the shovel he’d left there. Then he shoved his pistol down his pants, left the shadows of the garage, and started shuffling up the driveway with the gait of a man in his eighties.
For forty yards he felt as though a laser scope was burning a hole in his back, but he forced his brain to short-circuit the urge to run. When he was fifty yards from the Bouchard house, he turned right and started across the open ground to the neighbor’s home. Given that Tom was not with Knox or Ozan, and he had no way to question them, Walt could hardly stand the delay. As soon as he reached the house, he would take out his cell phone and do what Tom had forbidden from the beginning.
It was time to call Penn.
SONNY AND SNAKE WERE sitting on the lower bunk in their two-man jail cell when Deputy Spanky Ford made a pass through the cellblock. After surveying all the Double Eagles, he stopped before the cell and beckoned the two of them over. Snake looked up and walked over to the bars.
